Eight Years Later
by super manako sohma
Summary: Butters is still too hung up on the events that took place on September 11, 2001 to even celebrate his birthday, until Kenny comes in a suggests otherwise.


Mana here. Ah, September 11, 2001. Where were you that day? I was 10 years old, getting ready for school. Now eight years has passed, and I'm getting ready to go to college in a week. Eight years and we're still fighting…I'd like to take the time to apologize to my elementary schoolmates, saying that the war would be over in 2-3 years when we were all going through the post 9/11 hysteria. I didn't take into account that Cheney is a manipulative asshole who went onto say that there's WMD's in Iraq and rallied the base to get everyone over there. Goddammit.

But on top of the 9/11 stuff in this fic, this is also a birthday fic for Butters. Because I love Butters.

Warning, this fic might contain some controversial stuff…if you're politically sensitive, I don't recommend you read this.

XX

I remember waking up that Tuesday morning. It was my birthday, so I got out of bed, took a bath and brushed my teeth all with a bounce in my step. And it wasn't just any old birthday. My parents were taking me to Bennigan's. I was so excited. Bennigan's is the best Irish inspired restaurant in all of South Park, and everything on their menu was always delicious.

I'd come home from school and finish all my homework quickly. Then I'd take a shower and dress up in jeans and a nice sweater and tie, not too formal but presentable enough. And then my parents would take us down into the city and park over in the parking lot at Bennigan's. We'd enter the restaurant and get escorted to our booth by the nice Bennigan's hostess lady, and then we'd order the onion ring basket for appetizers. Then I would order the Baby Back Ribs. Dad would probably order the eight once sirloin and Mom would order the KilKenny's country chicken salad. And then while we're eating the Bennigan's staff would sing happy birthday to me and after that Mom and Dad would give me my presents. I don't expect a lot, but I'm always happy with whatever I get.

Boy was I excited.

I marched downstairs after I had finished getting ready, and saw my parents on the couch watching the morning news. I smiled; Dad was still in his bathrobe, and he didn't have to go to work until later. He _and_ Mom got up just for me? I could barely contain my joy.

"Good morning, Mom and Dad!" I sang when I entered the living room.

But they didn't tell me "good morning" back. In fact, they weren't even smiling. I raised my eyebrow. Something wasn't right.

"Mom? Dad? Good morning," I said again.

This time Mom responded, but with sobs of anguish. Dad held her consolingly, though it was evident in his face that he was stopping himself from breaking as well.

"What's going on?"

I was beginning to grow frightened, but I tried to brush it off. Even when I was young, and even though I never brought it up, I knew my parents were notorious for overreacting over the smallest things. Like when the dam in Beaverton broke, my dad was one of the ones along with Stan and Kyle's dad to blame global warming and were rallying everyone to believe that global warming was about to hit us at any minute. And as for mom, well, she's terrified of mice, and she nearly gets herself a heart attack whenever one of those little fellas goes loose in the kitchen.

Then I turned around, to look at the TV. They were watching the news. Mom always watches the news every morning while I get ready for school, so there wasn't anything usual to me. Then I took a closer look at the screen and saw two really tall sky scrapers on fire. I knew those buildings; they were the twin towers in New York City. But why would they be on fire?

"Butters," Dad said finally, "our nation. It has been attacked."

Mom sobbed harder. I tilted my head.

"What do you mean Dad?"

"Two planes crashed into the World Trade Center towers in New York this morning," he said, "and another plane just crashed into the Pentagon."

I looked closer at the TV and listened to what the reporters were saying.

"Who crashed into the towers?"

"I don't know, Butters. I don't know."

I looked at the clock at it was eight already; time for me to start walking to school. I said goodbye to my parents, and got another sob from my mom and left.

So, some mean people just went on planes full of innocent people and crashed them into buildings filled with more innocent people? Why, that's terrible. At least that's what I thought when I just first heard about it from my mom and dad. When I reached school, that's when I knew this thing was pretty serious. The children who were usually loud and screaming were quite somber. Then I went to my classroom, which was probably even quieter. Mrs. Garrison had the TV turned on to Good Morning America, which was covering more of the attack. Mrs. Garrison, of course, was sobbing her eyes out at her desk as the story came up with the fourth plane crashing in a field in Pennsylvania. Wendy was crying, and Stan was right by her, arm around her and trying to comfort her. Kyle and Eric seemed to lay off the insults some; they were _still_ insulting, but they managed to do so without any swear words.

I watched the TV as well, sitting beside Kyle and Eric (Kenny wasn't in school today, on account of his parents being worried that the school is gonna be attacked as well). And the more I watched the more I grew sadder. Just thinking of all the poor children whose moms and dads won't be coming home from work today to take them to Bennigan's for their birthdays, those newly married couples whose wives and husbands were now widows and widowers, those nice kind folks who won't greet their neighbors good morning or inviting them over for dinner anymore. Why, I'm really lucky to have a mom and a dad right now, and my friends. I could never ask for anything more.

My mom and dad were still on the couch watching the TV when I came home from school. Mom was still crying, and Dad looked like he was crying earlier but then stopped so he can comfort Mom. I sat perched on the front of the TV behind the couch, watching the rest of the news. Then President Bush went on the TV and said some things that seemed to make my mom and dad feel better. He was saying that they were terrorists that attacked the towers, because they were no good and evil. And he was also saying that our military is prepared and we might have to go to war to defend our freedom. But most of all, he made us all happy by saying that the terrorists have not won, because they haven't crushed our morale as they so dearly hoped. Our morale was strengthened through the acts of the brave fire-fighters who risked their lives to save as many victims as they can, through the kind acts of people who have helped one another, whether it be providing them an arm of rescue or a shoulder to cry on. I have never felt as proud of my country as I did that moment.

Now, eight years has passed since that terrible day, and still I feel the same way I felt when I was in third grade. Sad for those people who lost their lives because of no good mean terrorists, sad for the children that grew up without parents. America _has_ gone to war to fight against the terrorists, but so far, according to Kyle at least, the nation was side-tracked and hadn't yet accomplished their goals. Osama bin Laden is still hidden somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan or Pakistan or some other place in the Middle East, and I have no idea how long it will take for the American troops to find him. President Obama has recently sent troops to Afghanistan, where we were really needed in the first place. I don't know why we went to Iraq, but I'm glad that we're now focusing on the problem. Maybe, just maybe, the Americans will find Osama bin Laden and end this war once and for all.

As for my birthday, it too had fallen along with the towers. No one really paid attention to it as much anymore as they did when I was turning seven, six and five. Mom and Dad are still a bit shaken up during every nine-eleven since then, so it's perfectly understandable. I don't mind at all, though. I personally don't think it's right to celebrate on a day where thousands of people lost their lives. On some years though, I stopped by the little bakery in town and bought myself a little cake, just to eat, just for me. But that's it. Ah well, it's ok. But even though no one at school wishes me a happy birthday, my parents manage to squeeze it in during the day or before I go to sleep, and that's all that matters.

I tucked my scarf closer to my neck as I returned home from the grocery store on Mom's request. We were going to have spaghetti tonight and she ran out of sauce, so I went and got some for her. It was getting dark and cold as I quickened my step, eager to get home quick. I didn't want to catch a cold yet. It's too early in the season for colds, and well, it's my birthday.

"I'm home, Mom!" I called in through the doorway as I took of my coat and scarf and hung it on the coat rack.

I gave her the sauce right away, not wanting to wait a minute longer for the delicious spaghetti.

"Boy that smells good," I said, tasting the pasta with my nose.

"Thank you sweetie," she said, "oh, and before I forget, one of your little friends stopped by. I told him that you'll be back shortly, so he's sitting in your room."

I lit up. A visitor for me? On my birthday?

"Thanks, Mom," I said with a smile as I bounded up the stairs.

It was rare for me to get visitors, just because I'm, well, me and usually whenever it's someone like Eric or Kyle or Stan they usually leave when they find out I've been out. I opened the door to my room and my eyes widened in shock.

It was Kenny.

He was lying down on my bed, looking up at the ceiling before he turned to acknowledge me.

"Hey, Buttercup," he grinned.

I could help but blush at the nickname.

"H-hey Ken," I said, a bit timid, "what brings you over here?"

At once Kenny sat up on the bed with two boxes. One of the boxes was really tiny and slim, and the other one was a bit bigger.

"Happy Birthday, Butters," he said, presenting me with the big box.

I blushed again.

"K-Ken…my birthday…"

"What about it?" He asked.

I ground my knuckles together, something I usually did when I was feeling shy or nervous.

"Well…gosh Ken, you remembered it," I managed to say.

He merely chuckled.

"Of course I remembered your birthday, Butters," he said, "now open your presents."

I was still a little speechless when I took the big box. It felt a little heavy, so I decided to sit on the bed to deal with it. It was one of those folding boxes like the kind you see at the bakery that carries cakes and stuff. And sure enough as I opened the top flap I was presented with a white, round cake, iced and trimmed with yellow icing on the side. On the middle said "Happy 16th Birthday, Butters!" in blue icing and then it was decorated with stars and hearts in that same blue color.

"G-gosh Ken," I stuttered, moments after my silence, "thanks a lot!"

Kenny simply smiled.

"We'll have that after dinner," he closed the lid and set the cake aside and held the smaller box up to me, "this one, you can enjoy now."

I took the box hesitantly and unwrapped the shiny blue wrapping paper. It was a simple white box, which I opened. Inside was a little cell phone charm, red lanyard with an adorable apple charm at the end. The charm itself was inside a clear pink cellophane wrapper with Japanese words written on the front. I didn't understand what they meant, but it probably meant something nice.

"Aw, Ken!" I said, "you didn't have to do this for me!"

"Why not? What kind of kid doesn't want presents on their birthday?"

"W-well…" I began grinding my knuckles again, "I-I've never really celebrated my birthday ever since 2001…"

"Psh!" Kenny laughed, "Butters, that was ages ago!"

"Well, I know…but still. Don't you still feel sad, Ken? About those poor people who all died."

"Yeah, it shakes me up a little when I think about it," he said, "but you know what? That's what the terrorists want. They want us to make us sad, fuck us up so we're constantly afraid of the shadows behind his. And I come from a family of bleeding heart patriots, so we don't take shit from terrorists. We live up each day to the fullest, enjoying ourselves, not afraid of the future. We live to show those bastards that they haven't gotten to us. And you should too!"

If I hadn't been blushing before, I was now.

"A-are you sure, Ken?"

"Of course! Butters…seriously all this time you never said anything about your birthday because of _that_?"

I nodded.

"I-it's not right to…you know…be all happy when others are sad."

"Butters," he took my shoulders, "lots of people are sad everyday. But regardless, people still celebrate their birthdays and have fun. And you should too, ok?"

I blinked for a minute, thinking about it. And I guess it is true that people are sad every day but still laugh and smile. I remember recently I was worried about this homework assignment. I was scared about not getting it in, but I remember seeing Stan and Kyle talking and laughing about a football game or something, and now that I think about it, that didn't bother me one bit. Do the victims of the terrorist attacks eight years ago care if I'm happy on my birthday? Most likely not. Heck, I don't think any of the victims know me!

I laughed and smiled up at Kenny.

"Alright, Ken," I said, "I'm gonna have myself a happy birthday!"

"Attaboy!" Kenny laughed and took me into a bear hug. This took me by surprise, but I didn't complain. I thought Kenny's hugs were nice. I hugged him back, taking a deep breath and breathing into his ashy scent.

"Thanks for the cake and the charm, Ken," I said, "why, I'm going to go right ahead and put the charm on my phone!"

I took my cell from my pocket (not really sure why I had one; no one ever called) and then took the charm from the little wrapper. I slid it onto the little slot on the top of my phone and then pulled on it to secure it tight. I held my phone out in front of me, admiring the new little ornament.

"Aww," Kenny said softly, "how cute…"

He was looking straight at me when he said that, prompting yet another blush from me. He simply chuckled and ruffled my hair.

"Now, why don't we help your mom with dinner?" He asked, "I feel bad for eating over without helping."

I smiled and nodded. He stood up first and motioned for me to come with him, which I did. I stuffed my phone in my pocket, letting the charm dangle in front of my leg, and I could help but feel a rush of warmth when I gazed down upon it every few seconds.

XX

Ack, again, sorry for the politics ^^ But despite that, I hope you liked it.


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